Atsushi Miyamoto
by jamesmapes94
Summary: A new house, new job, new life. That's what Magnolia Promenade promised Atsushi. He thought he would be able to pursue his own interests and set himself on the path to stardom. But as usually happens with him, things didn’t go according to plan. New people to get used to, bosses to try and avoid upsetting, and a stove that occasionally smokes on its own….
1. chapter 1

"Easy!" But it was too late. The two men carrying the sofa grimaced in unison when the glass cracked. The top of the coffee table now resembled some kind of modern art piece, a spiderweb of cracks spreading from where the leg had hit. Atsushi let out a sigh, rubbing his head as the third headache set in.

"Sorry…" The mover who spoke bit his lip in an anxious way. If it had been him and the client, this wouldn't have happened. His cohort was a terror. Just this job alone had suffered the broken table, some ripped canvases, and the loss of a dishwasher. "I'll make sure we compensate you Mr. Miyamoto. Erick, go wait in the truck…" The lumbering buffoon trundled out of the house, the sound of the U-haul's door letting the remaining two speak. "I swear to God, I'm never bringing him on a job again. Last time, he smashed a woman's set of 16th century china."

"I'm not too worried about it. Never did like that table anyway. Isn't really enough room for it." He looked around the little house equal parts glad to be finally done moving, and stressed out from the struggle of getting it done. "The biggest favor you could do me is help carry the table to the curb. I'll call and have someone pick it up tomorrow."

The sun was starting to sink as Erick and his coworker waved goodbye from their truck, leaving Atsushi to finally breathe in peace. A cool breeze drifted across the porch from the canal, tossing his hair in a half hearted way. He looked up at his little house before going inside. His boxes were stacked in corners, the only thing sitting out being his guitar, the dining table, sofa, and armchair. A cheap desk kit sat on the wall near his bedroom, inspiring a flare of migraine at the very thought of putting it together. "I'll do that latter…" He got a glass of water, leaning against the counter in thought.

He thought getting out of Bridgeport would have made things better. A new, slower paced lifestyle. A place to work on his music without harassment. But even still he was being pushed in a different direction. The call from his dad's friend offering him a customer service position was proof enough that his father still thought a music career was a wasted effort. Shi had taken the job, knowing it would be better than anything he could have found on his own, but he did so with no enthusiasm. He started the day after tomorrow, on Monday. He texted one of his friends, letting her know he had gotten there safe. He made his way into the bedroom and flopped onto the mattress. A few springs dug into his stomach. He grumbled, shifting to a slightly more comfortable spot. It took a few more minutes to get to sleep. Outside, the sound of frogs drifted from the canal and pond like a small town lullaby.


	2. Moving Pains

The morning greeted Atsushi with crippling back pain. This bed is bullshit… Every inch of his spine cracked with agony as he sat up. 23 years old, and he could have sworn he belonged in a nursing home. The sun splayed across his comforter. The orange glare caught in a suspension of dust. He staggered to the bathroom, rubbing an eye as he relieved himself.

He had woken earlier than he would have liked. He supposed it was better to get ready earlier, but the thoughts of longer sleep always seemed preferable. He turned on the shower, digging in one of the nearby boxes for one of his bath towels. He found one eventually, though it was more hole than towel at this point. He hung it on the towel rod before stripping down.

As soon as he got in the shower, he realized that he should probably look into checking on his water heater. It was already starting to get cold. He hurried his routine along, marveling at the brevity with which his body temperature had dropped.

He made his way to the kitchen and sat at the coffee pot with a sigh. The scent of fresh ground Alpaca Sunrise Blend tantalized his nose. He stirred in his creamer while inspecting his new house in the morning light.

Aside from the mound of boxes towering on the right hand side, the movers had done a decent job of setting the place in order. The loveseat was straight in front of the fireplace, the desk off to the northern side of the room. The dining table stood near the glass double doors to the patio. His mother had sent him a few of her art prints to spruce the place up a bit. Though he found himself slightly off put by the gargantuan gourd painting, more than comforted. He eyed his guitar from across the room. Was there timed to play before the carpool got there? 'Fuck it,' he set down his cup, 'they'll honk when they're here.'

The acoustic was light, swinging onto his shoulder almost of its own will. He strummed a chord and cringed at the sound the neglected strings made. He twisted one of the keys to tune the instrument up. Clearly, he had waited too long to play.

The blaring of a car horn disturbed his musical focus. Setting the guitar back on it's stand, he grabbed his sweater and locked the door behind him.


End file.
